Chapter Five: Here I Am, Wounded (#25)

The weeks began to pile up as if time had suddenly become thicker. Between classes, books, endless shifts at the Big Root, and increasingly intimate visits to Sofía's apartment, Tomás had almost forgotten what day it was. Until the email arrived.

He was in the middle of class, with students writing a short essay, when he noticed it: a notification at the top of his phone, almost discreet, as if it didn't have the power to change everything.

"Élan Publishing - National Youth Narrative Contest Results"

His heart leaped, so strong that he felt the echo in his temples. He didn't open it. He just stared at the heading again and again, as if the words could change just by wishing it. He swallowed, nervous. He knew he wouldn't be able to concentrate.

When the class ended, he hurried out in search of Sofía. He found her in the staff room, sitting, correcting papers with her coffee cup beside her. As their eyes met, she raised an eyebrow, as if guessing something in his expression. But Tomás didn't approach. He didn't want to make her uncomfortable. Not in front of others. He just sent her a brief message:

"The contest results are in."

Minutes later, Sofía replied.

"Come home after classes. We'll read it together."

The rest of the day was hell.

Every second passed with the slowness of an eternity. He couldn't stop thinking about the possibility of failure. About whether the title, whether his characters, his words... simply hadn't been enough. Not because he sought fame or recognition—though perhaps, a little he did—but because he had put all of himself into that book. It was a piece of his soul bound.

That story wasn't just about seasons. It was about him. About his wounds. About Sofía. About Soledad.

As soon as the dismissal bell rang, he walked quickly towards Sofía's apartment. He climbed the stairs as if fleeing something, knocked on the door, and she greeted him with a calm smile, but in her eyes there was the same contained anxiety.

They said nothing to each other.

Tomás handed her his phone as if it weighed a ton.

"I can't read it," he murmured, his voice broken by nerves. "Please, you do it."

Sofía looked at him for a few seconds. Then she took the phone with both hands, as if it were a delicate responsibility.

She opened the email.

Her eyes scanned the first lines, and her face tightened slightly. She swallowed.

"You're not in the top three places," she said softly, her gaze fixed on the screen.

Tomás looked down.

He felt the ground give way slightly beneath his feet.

But then, Sofía frowned, as if something in the email surprised her.

"Wait..."

She read again.

"Tomás..." her voice barely broke. "You're in the special category."

He looked up, confused.

"What...?"

Sofía looked at him intently.

"'Editor's Choice: Seasons of Loneliness, by Tomás Lambert.'"

Tomás didn't understand at first. Sofía let go of the phone and gripped his hands tightly.

"You won, Tomás. You won something. They chose you!"

He blinked, as if he couldn't quite comprehend it.

"Is that... important?"

"It's huge," she affirmed, her smile growing brighter. "Do you know how hard it is for an editor to choose a manuscript outside of the top three? They only do it when something deeply touches them, when they can't let it go."

Relief surged through his chest like a warm gust of wind, and laughter bubbled from his lips, a mixture of disbelief and emotion. Sofía laughed with him. They hugged, with a force that almost hurt, as if all the weight he had been carrying for weeks, for months, suddenly collapsed onto his shoulders and he could only hold on by clinging to her.

It was the first time they had truly hugged.

And neither wanted to let go of the other.

Tomás buried his face against her neck, and when he pulled back slightly, he caressed her face with a tenderness Sofía didn't expect.

"Thank you," he whispered. "For everything."

Sofía didn't know what to say. She just felt something inside her tremble, as if an invisible crack was slowly opening in her chest. He was still so close, his fingers still grazed her cheek, and his eyes shone with an emotion too pure to ignore.

They remained embraced longer than they should have. Longer than was prudent. Longer than was healthy.

But neither mentioned it.

That afternoon, the sadness that had lingered from the professor's death barely dissipated, as if that small victory had ignited a new flame. One that brought a little light through the fog.

They had been together through many hard moments.

But never as close as that day.

And although Sofía knew it, although an alarm rang inside her, warning her that this closeness could break something that had just been reborn within her... she didn't pull away.

She didn't want to.

Because she too needed that light.

Even if only for a moment.

Even if she had to pay the price later.